A/N: Hello to all! Welcome to my new story! A couple of notes before we start: this fic is going to mix elements both from the stage and movie versions of Phantom. I love them both and have decided to pick the best elements from either to put them in the story. The plot is going to be revealed as the story progresses, so don't worry if you don't understand certain aspects right away. If you don't understand something though, please do go ahead and send me a PM – I'll be glad to clear any doubts or comments! Constructive cristicism is always welcome of course. Please be aware that this is my first attempt to writing a Phantom related fic, so although I'll try as best as I can to keep everyone in character, forgive me if I slip OOC and feel free to point it out to me so that I can improve that.

That'll be enough for now, so for now Enjoy the story!

Love to all,

-Kayla Shadow

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you might recognize. The character of Shadow, though, belongs to me.

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PROLOGUE:

Paris, 1911

Operà Populaire de Paris

"Monsieurs, allow me to present, directly from the famous production of Hannibal, lot 664: a fine handpainted theatrical poster."
The auctioneer's wheezy, slightly nasal voice echoed around the half empty room, where a few people had gathered to see if there was anything worth buying amongst the antique objects which had once belonged to the Opera. A man in a wheelchair was carried inside by a nun, and brought beside the auctioneer's podium: it was none other than Raoul, the Vicomte de Chagny. An elderly woman, standing on the opposite side of the room, noticed his entrance, and cast a brief glance his way, as the auctioneer carried on with his duty.

"And now, I give you lot 665: a music box in the shape of a barrel organ. It is still functional, as you can see, and it was found in one of the underground passages of the Opera. Its origin, it has been assumed by the monkey's clothes, is Persian. Lot 665, Monsieurs."

As he revealed the opening price, the elderly woman turned her gaze towards the Vicomte, and when she met his gaze, the two of them exchanged a brief, knowing look.

The music box was bought by the Vicomte, and once it had been brought to him the old man looked at it silently, with a mixture of saddness and melanchony in his eyes. The woman turned her head away.

"And now, Monsieurs, I give you our finest lot. Lot 666, Gentlemen: a chandelier, once shattered in pieces, now restored to its full splendor. The crystals have been replaced one by one, and the original lighting has been changed with modern electric lighting. It is said that this is the very chandelier-"

"Involved in the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera?" the elderly woman suddenly piped out, interrupting him. All heads, auctioneers' and bidders', turned to her. "A mystery…never fully explained?"

"Ah, yes, yes indeed," the auctioneer replied, as everybody turned back to face him once again, "A mystery never fully explained, indeed…and a story never quite told correctly, either. For you see, Monsieurs, everybody can certainly recall the events of the Phantom, also known as the Opera Ghost…but what few people know, is that his was not the only free soul which roamed this Opera. Perhaps, recalling the story in its true form with a little lighting will help frighten away not only the Phantom of so many years ago, but also…his Shadow. Gentlemen?" he signalled.

In a few fluid movements, drapes were removed, ropes were pulled, and lights were switched on.

And so, the story begins…again.

CH.1 : «MONSIEURS, WE BID YOU WELCOME»

The dark night sky of Paris was being lit up with brightly coloured fireworks, which set off and exploded right above the Opera Populaire. Outside the Opera, numerous coaches were drawing up, and distinguished looking gentlemen helped wonderfully dressed madams descend from their carriages. All the most important noble men and women of Paris, la créme de la créme of the high society, had gathered for a night of celebration. The party was being hosted by Monsieur Lefevre, the owner of the Opera, who had announced his impending retirement earlier that week and had organized the event to properly welcome the new managers, Monsieurs André and Firmìn.

At that moment, Monsieur Lefevre was standing at the entrance of the theatre, welcoming his guests and looking around for the two men. At last, as he watched yet another carriage stop in front of him, he saw them appear from within it.

"Monsieur André! Monsieur Firmìn!" he greeted them warmly, shaking their hands as soon as they had climbed the stairs to meet him.

"Monsieur Lefevre," André greeted him.

"We are delighted to be here," said Firmìn.

"Indeed, and we are most honoured for all you have done for us," André concurred.

"It is the least I could do," said Lefevre, glad that he could now walk inside the theatre and escape the bitter night cold as he accompanied his two guests in the atrium.

They left their jackets and wandered in the main salon, where the rest of the guests were chatting vivaciously and laughing lightheartedly, enjoying the fine music that was being offered by the Opera's orchestra and the delicious food coming from the rich buffet that had been set up on one side of the room. Followed by André and Firmìn, Lefevre walked decisevly to the center of the room and took a flute of champagne from one of the waiters in his hand, raising it above his head and clinking on the glass, calling out so as to catch everybody's attention.

"Madames et Monsieurs, if I could just please have your attention for just a second," he began. The voices and noises quickly died out, and everybody turned to look at him. "Thank you," he said, pausing before announcing, "I would like to present the fine new owners and managers of the Opera Populaire, Monsieur André and Monsieur Firmìn. I would like to ask you all to raise your glasses now for a toast to these fine gentlemen. I am sure that this Opera will gain much benefit from their management, and it is a pleasure for me to leave the Opera to them."

The guests clapped politely, and the two managers bowed their heads. André then took a step forward and faced the crowd before them.

"What an honour it is for us to be received in such a way," he spoke clearly, "Allow me to say that this is not only a splendid night, but it is also a very meaningful one as we are all here to celebrate the retirement of a great man such as Monsieur Lefevre."

"A fine man indeed," Firmìn continued, stepping up besides his collegue and placing a hand on his shoulder, "A man who has bestowed his trust upon us to carry on his work. We hope to be worthy of this task."

"And, should we not be, you are all of course welcome to kick us out immediately," André joked, making everybody laugh lightly.

Suddenly, there was a loud explosion, and surprised yells rose from the crowd. A cloud of thick, red smoke appeared at the center of the staircase, just in front of the three men, and the lights of the entire Opera quivered and went out for an instant. André and Firmìn covered their eyes, coughing from the smoke, and they heard Lefevre muttering worriedly, besides them, cursing under his breath in french. Apparently, he didn't look as though he had been caught off guard when the smoke had cleared and they were finally able to raise their heads and see what had caused the explosion. André and Firmìn narrowed their eyes to see better: there was a figure standing on the stairs, dressed in red.

No, that wasn't right…it wasn't one figure…

There were two of them.

The guests gasped and quickly moved away from the figures, leaving an open passage between them and the three Opera owners. The first figure, which stood out to André and Firmìn more clearly, was a tall, muscular and lean man. He was wearing a tight fitting red costume, which resembled Red Death, with a swirling cape draped around his shoulders, knee-high black boots and a skull-like mask that covered his piercing blue eyes. He moved slowly, confidently, giving off the impression that he had calculated every move he was making, and he took the time to examin the room with his eyes. His eyes then narrowed as they settled upon the three men standing in front of him. He drew out a slim silver sword that he was carrying around his waist, and pointed it towards them. At last, he spoke.

"So," he said, in a deep velvety voice,"These are to be my future managers, I suppose?"

"Lefevre, who is this man?" André demanded, worried.

"This is most irregular! What is he doing here?" Firmìn added.

"I, Monsieurs, am the true owner of this Opera," the man answered in a dangerously low tone, threateningly poiting his sword at the two, "And we are here," he emphasized the word by looking around the room once more, "because we did not receive an invitation for tonight's celebration."

"Lefevre, what in the world-?" André began.

"Monsieurs," Lefevre interrupted him, finally speaking up, "Allow me to introduce to you the Phantom of this Opera."

"The Phantom of the Opera?" the other two repeated, incredulous.

"Ridiculous!" André exclaimed.

"Unbelievable!" Firmìn echoed him.

"Unbelievable as it may be, Monsieurs, here I stand," the Phantom replied, with a quick bow, "Opera Ghost,at your service. In case our fine friend Lefevre has not told you yet, I live here. I am the master of this Opera, which I have built. I have set certain rules for those who wish to manage my theatre, and I expect you to follow them just as your predecessor has."

"Rules?" Firmin repeated, with a mocking laugh, "You intend to set rules for us?" he had stepped closer towards the stairs, and André was standing next to him.

"Indeed, Monsieur," answered the Phantom, taking another step towards them, sword pointed at Firmìn's chest, "You will find that they are quite simple, and I advice you to comply to them." he narrowed his eyes again to underline his threat, before he began, "Number one, I wish for box five to be left empty for my personal use. At any event, for any time I wish to use it. Secondly," he continued, now moving the sword towards André, who backed away, alarmed, "Never, under any circumstance,are you to go searching around for my lair. It is secret and I would wish for it to remain that way. Thirdly, Monsieurs," he concluded, lowering the sword and taking a step back, grinning as he raised it to examine the blade, "Allow me to remind you that my salary is overdued. I would appreciate if you took care of that as soon as possible."

"Preposterous!" André exclaimed after a moment's silence, furious with the Phantom's arrogant attitude, stepping right up besides him, "With what courage, Monsieur, do you show your face in this crowd and expect us to follow your orders?"

"You hide away in a secret lair, and yet you have the nerve to interrupt our celebration with such nonesense!" Firmìn agreed, following his collegue's steps and standing besides him.

Lefevre glanced nervously at the Phantom, who had sudenly turned rigid, and then stepped up besides the other two men, "Now, gentlemen, let us be reasonable, there is no reason to be upset-" he tried to calm them, seeing the Phantom's reaction, but the two ignored him.

"Oh, but there is a reason to be upset, Lefvre!" exclaimed Firmìn, "And not only that, we are offended as well! What an insult! To be threated like this, and by some fool who presents himself as a Phantom!"

"What a pity," the Phantom replied, shaking his head mockingly, "I had come here to make sure that my Opera did not end up in the hands of incompetent fools, yet right now I find that I am disappointed..." he trailed off, turning around the room to gaze upon the other guests, "And my, what a marvellous, useless display of a superficial celebration…what a fine brand of spoiled rich, coinceited and ostentatious guests…and all for the sake of two pompous, arrogant and ignorant idiots-"

"Enough!" Firmìn exlaimed, raising his voice.

"I will not stand and watch this mask wearing clown order us in our Opera, let alone insult us in front of our guests!" said André, "Guards! Quick! Somebody call the guards," he ordered, "Tell them to come here at once and rid us of this…this…this freak!" he spat the last word out in the Phantom's face.

Before anybody could say anything more or even think about moving, there was a loud growl, followed by an angry cry, and André was suddenly pushed away from the Phantom as a white swirl passed in front of him him.

"Stand BACK!" a feminime voice snarled.

In a flash, the second figure that had been standing besides the Phantom when the smoke had cleared suddenly stepped in between the two men, shielding the Phantom with her body and crouching in a dangerous, predatorlike defensive position. She was wearing a white outfit which clung to her body, her ears were covered in a white wig which resembled a cat's, and her face was covered in a white cat mask. André suddenly felt he had the cold blade of a dagger pressed against his throat, and went rigid. Another angry snarl ripped from the figure's throat, and all three men froze on the spot.

"Shadow!" the Phantom exclaimed, alarmed, "Shadow,no!"

"Do not dare call him that again!" she growled, bearing her teeth, "Ever!"

"Lefevre, do something!" André exclaimed, eyeing Shadow worriedly.

"Monsieur Le Phantome, please…!" Lefevre begged, exhorting him to do something.

The Phantom rolled his eyes and sighed, lowering his sword, "Shadow, let him go."

"But he insult you!" Shadow replied, turning around to look at him and momentarily lowering her dagger as well, "He call you f-freak!" she growled at this last word and then spun around again, resuming her threatening position.

The Phantom merely walked up besides her and gently placed a hand on her arm, muttering, "Yes, but we are better than him, and that is why we will not sink to his level by harming him like this." And he looked intentely at her, giving her a silent order.

She remained still for a moment, her icy eyes boring into his, before obeying and reluctantly lowering her arm. He nodded once in approval.

"Lefevre, who is she?" André demanded, still shocked.

"She, Monsieur, is Shadow," the Phantom answered for him in a slightly irritated tone, as though he were suggesting that André watch his tone, "She's with me."

Suddenly, a loud command filled the room.

"HALT! HALT OR I'LL FIRE!"

Both Shadow and the Phantom looked around, alarmed, but before they could react they found three guards pointing their guns at them from three different entrances of the room. Apparently, somebody had warned them of the confusion and they had immediately come to end it. Shadow shrank back towards Phantom, who stood still trying to keep his cool.

André backed away from them, straightening himself up, and Firmìn followed him.

Lefevre simply stood there, wondering what would happen next.

"You, Monsieur, are no doubt the worst thing that could happen to this party tonight!" André spoke, regaining his boldness now that he knew he was being protected,"Your visit is unwelcomed, and an insult to all our guests!"

"Yes, yes indeed," Firmìn agreed, "You are nothing more than a couple of circus freaks, and we suggest that you return to lock yourseves up in your lair, where you belong, instead of bothering the rest of us with your foolishness!"

Besides him, the Phantom felt Shadow quiver.

"Oh, and be sure to take your…pet," Andé snarled, eyeing Shadow, "Along with you."

Instinctively, the Phantom stepped angrily forward, but this time it was Shadow who launched herself forward and grabbed his hand, pulling him back, scared that he would get shot.

"No! No!" she cried, "Let's go! Erik, away!"

"Ha!" Firmin guaffed, smirking at the scene, "Would you look at that now, André?!"

"Seems like the Beast is holding its Master now-!" André agreed.

The partyers snickered with laughter. Shadow dropped her hold on the Phantom, and he immediately turned his face to look at her. She had dropped her dagger and had recoiled, shakily holding her face beween her hands. He agrily turned around to glare at the guests.

"This isn't over!" he shouted, more of a promise than a threat. Then, before anyone could do or say anything else, he spun around, stepped back besides Shadow, and placing an arm securely around her waist he pulled her to him. She turned around and buried her face in his chest, and with one final glare at the new managers, he dropped something, and there was another blast of red smoke that filled the room and blinded everybody. Surprised yells echoed around the room once again,and when the smoke cleared…

They were gone.